


Debrief

by Jadesfire



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Comment Fic, Gen, myth&legend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: nobody believes Michael Weston could have been one person.</p><p>Note: no dachshunds, real or fictional, were hurt in the making of this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debrief

_When you're a spy, it helps if you can maintain an air of mystery. As long as people think you can do the impossible, they're more likely to go along with the ridiculously dangerous things you ask them to do. Of course, to your employers, those things may just seem ridiculous._

Later, it proves too complicated to explain. It's so complicated, in fact, that Michael's kind of surprised he's not giving his 'debriefing' in handcuffs.

"Don't get me wrong, we're pleased you got out in one piece." 

That's probably an exaggeration.

"We're just a little puzzled-"

That's definitely an exaggeration.

"-as to how."

And there it is. No handler is going to come straight out and accuse an agent - sorry, independent, deniable consultant - of having flipped. They're going to explain how they're not angry, just disappointed, and that they really need a good explanation for the man upstairs.

The thing is, Michael has one. He really does. It involves an improbable amount of vodka, a Faberge egg, a tub of yogurt, three scaffolding poles, and a dachshund. It gets more complicated after that, and he'd probably need a diagram. Except they won't give him a pencil, because they seem firmly convinced he could murder them all with it without breaking sweat.

Which he probably could, apart from the sweat part. It's hot in here.

For now, he just keeps his hands on the table, aware of how nervous it makes everyone when he moves. Because a man who can apparently take out half a Russian crime syndicate without their help is not to be trusted. That's fine by Michael, because he doesn't exactly trust them either. 

"Would it help," he asks, in what he hopes is an appropriately conciliatory tone of voice, "if I told you that the dachshund was returned unharmed?"

It doesn't help.

After an hour, his interrogator still looks angry. Sorry. Disappointed. 

"Help me understand this, Michael. How did you plant the egg?"

"Sleight of hand. You'd be amazed at how many people don't look at cab drivers."

After two, confusion is setting in.

"And all this time you were up in the hotel room."

"I was trying to crack the safe. These guys don't leave things just lying around, you know."

After three hours, the interrogator has the air of a man who wishes he'd stayed in bed this morning. 

"But how did you-"

"You know dachshunds are really small, right? It wasn't that hard."

"But how did you find the time?"

"That's where the scaffolding poles come in."

After five hours, a lot of forms - because apparently he's either trustworthy or insane, and either way, pencils are now allowed - and three pots of coffee, Michael is allowed to the leave the room.

As the door swings shut behind him, he swears he hears one of the observers say, "I'm still not clear about the yogurt."

And despite himself, he smiles.


End file.
